


Like Beats on a Clock

by worldturtling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (references to), Angst, Asphyxiation, Dealing With Trauma, Dubious Consent, M/M, Noncon (brief), Panic Attacks, Panic Attacks during attempted sex, Trauma, Traumatized Dean, Vomiting, being triggered during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldturtling/pseuds/worldturtling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, they're all back in the bunker, and Dean knows he should be able to 'stow his baggage' and remember the good times. His body just doesn't work that way. Written pre-s9 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Beats on a Clock

They’ve put all the angels back in heaven. Gadreel’s dead, so is Metatron. Dean doesn’t really know anymore what the angels are gonna do now, but Castiel and Sam seem assured that everything is back in order. Dean doesn’t even want to touch how vague that sounds because he is so bone wrenchingly exhausted.

He falls face first on his bed and passes out.

Castiel is in his room when he wakes up. He’s sitting in a chair in a corner. It’s Dean’s desk chair. Castiel moved it.

Dean looks at the clock and sees that it’s four in the morning.

“What?” his voice is hoarse to his ears. Castiel is  holding his coat in his hands and squeezing it.

“It calms me, to watch over you.” Dean closes his eyes.

“Do you have any control over how creepy you can be?” his voice sounds so rough and dry to him, he hopes it’s a good indicator that now is not a good time to be around his sleeping area.

Castiel persists.

“We haven’t had much time to see each other, but Dean, I wanted you to know I have always valued our time together most of all.”

Dean doesn’t respond. He tries to clear his mind. His body takes over. It's an instinct, like finally reaching an itch that had been nagging him and he was unsuccessfully trying to ignore. He can ignore it and resist shooting someone point blank without opening his eyes, but the threat claiming him is still a feeling. He removes himself from bed, and takes what is under his pillow in hand. Castiel has an angel blade pointed into his shoulder in seconds.

“Leave.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel replies after a beat.

Dean locks the door behind him, could have sworn he had locked the door before out of habit. He falls back asleep with uneasiness.

The next morning, Cas is in the kitchen with Sam. He looks up at Dean. Sam pours himself the last of the coffee and Dean has to refill it to make more.

Castiel hovers around him but says nothing. His chest is inches from Dean’s back and Dean’s lungs tighten.  He takes a deep breath and walks to the opposite side of the kitchen, with the excuse of looking for a cup in the wrong cabinet. Castiel stays where he is, watching Dean. Dean prays that he says nothing.

Castiel is silent.

Dean turns around and he’s gone. He’s startled at the breath he lets go, and counts the seconds it takes until he's breathing normally again.

-

“It’s good having Cas back again, isn’t it?” Sam says to Dean over his laptop. Dean has a book of enochian symbols open. He doesn’t really know where Cas is, but he’s guessing still in the bunker.

“Yeah,” Dean replies after a beat.

“Just like old times. Team free will together again.”

Dean’s hand unconsciously goes to his opposite arm. He gives it a tight squeeze, and swallows down a feeling.

“I’m glad you have another friend around, Dean. What with Charlie gone and…” Everyone else being dead, the unspoken words weigh at the end of Sam’s pause like ton of ugly rocks. “I think keeping Cas around is good for you. This is the first time in… forever that nothing is wrong with any of us. You’re okay, I’m okay, Cas is okay,” Dean can’t help the snort that comes out so derisively. Sam doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps talking.

“You guys haven’t been able to talk in a while, and maybe now’s the first time we can all really be a team again.”

“Where the hell is this coming from?” Dean has to know. Sam shrugs.

“I just miss what we used to be sometimes. Before all the junk that happened to us.”

Dean frowns, nods, and hopes Sam  will just shut up let him read in peace.

-

The shower is one of the only places he’s never been interrupted so far, and so it’s there he goes when he hears Cas come in through the front door bearing what he called groceries.

Old times were a long time ago.  He should have told Sam that.

He soaps up his arms, and runs soapy fingers roughly over his thighs, scrubbing against the hairs.

The first time with Cas, he was on his back and looking up at Dean. He had been so careful and had barely touched him, except towards the end to hold his hips where Dean was on top and taking him inside himself. Then he gripped Dean’s hips like a test, or a reflex. Dean had been momentarily shocked by the sharpness of his prints, especially the next morning, but he hadn’t said anything then.

The thing that stood out to him most that night was the look in Cas’ eyes, staring at Dean like he was scared and confused and Dean was the answer to everything.

It’s with that thought that he exits the bathroom in his robe.

He enters Cas’ room, which Dean had made the bed for and everything to explain how much of a room it was and to specifically avoid giving Cas an excuse to wander into Dean’s room. And now he was here.

His stomach drops.

Cas turns from where he’s fiddling with the unplugged radio on his desk. Dean fiddles with the tie on his bathrobe.

Castiel looks up at him, his eyes flickering down to his hands then stalwartly aiming for Dean’s face again. Dean sees his adam’s apple bob.

“I know we haven’t really ever had any time to talk,” Dean starts, and Castiel turns in his chair.

“How are you, Dean?” He asks so earnestly, eyes blank and open.

“I’m fine,” it's an automatic response. “I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Castiel nods, smiles blankly. “I’m settling in. It’s very homey, here.”  

Castiel is a bullet biting through a chest and leaving the wound gaping while it loses fire, he has no business being so nonthreatening.

_Castiel is one of the good guys. He always had a good intention. I want us to be like we were. Keep smiling even if you don’t feel like it anymore._

Dean unstrings his robe and lets it fall to the floor, in such a porn star move. Cas’ reaction fits into the trope. His mouth parts. Dean is straddling his lap in an instant, holding his face between his hands and kissing his mouth to Castiel’s persistently dry and chapped ones. For once, now that he's not busy killing angels or being another messiah, he should learn to drink a damn glass of water.

Castiel’s hands find his hips, still in a thin layer of moisture from the shower covering him. Dean’s still soft, but he can feel Cas’ intentions already pressing quietly against his stomach.

“I’ve wanted this, you, for so long, I thought,” Castiel tries to get words into Dean’s mouth, but Dean keeps kissing him to shut him up.

His hands grip Dean and tug him further on his lap, familiar bodies knocking together. Except Cas still has his clothes on. Dean starts to tug at his tie. He feels Cas grin against his mouth and can’t help but think,  _who are you_? He imagines the way the cool glinting teeth must look when they bite his lower lip.

Castiel undoes his buttons until Dean takes over and does it faster.

Dean starts taking him to bed, unbuttoning his pants along the way which is enough of an obstacle because Cas’ dick is stubbornly in his way. Cas’ hands meanwhile find time to roam his back, and Cas’ mouth is thorough and hungry against him, teeth scraping whenever his lips parted.

Finally, he shoves the boxers and pants down at once, and knocks Cas back to the bed, breathing in the air in the space that separates them. He straddles the flat on his back Cas, hand on his chest, and leans down to keep kissing him. Cas’ hand reaches for his shoulder, for the phantom scar that disappeared, and doesn’t notice Dean’s quick hiccup. He feels down Dean’s side, squeezing extra pouches of skin Dean’s developed along the way, and Dean bites his lip and shuts his eyes each time. He tries to force himself to relax, as the hand caresses above his ass.

Castiel’s dick is hard and bobbing against his stomach. Dean takes it in hand, remembers numerous times just like this with different people. Castiel wasn't so different.

Castiel’s hands stop all movements and he groans softly under Dean. He’s almost exposed again, his narrow stomach falling up and down with relaxed breaths under Dean’s  sight, flabby white skin an expanse under his view.

“Let me-” Cas says after a moment, and Dean doesn’t expect the move. He’s on his back, Castiel taking his own soft half hard erection in his palm and kissing Dean again, all teeth. Were they always this rough? It often had been. Dean tries not to let his mind drift to much about the way Castiel's ribs are digging into his. Their chests are pressed together. Dean is surprised Castiel can’t hear his heart hammering, for Dean it's as clear is if there were no skin covering it. His other arm is positioned to the side of Dean’s head, and Cas is blocking all views of the doorway.

His chest is pressed against Dean’s, his inhales pressing Dean’s stomach down with his breath. It's harder to swallow. It's almost too painful to swallow.

“Stop,” he thinks he pants, but it’s too low for Cas to hear, it's scratchy to Dean's own ears and not louder than the thrumming in his ears. He isn’t even sure if he really said it.  He holds his breath, and hears his heart pump louder in his throat. Castiel’s teeth graze along his jaw. Dean flinches at a nip. He keeps biting his way down Dean’s neck. Maybe he'll aim for the aorta. Dean wants to grab his hair and shove him off, but his muscles are locked, sending a tiny shiver of panic up his spine. He holds completely still. He hopes Castiel can see how wide his eyes are.

“Stop,” he repeats, feeling his breath being choked off, trying to squeeze the word out of his vice tight throat. He's not sure if he's just remembering blood or if he can actually taste it because it's there.

Castiel continues down. He doesn't seem aware of anything. It's not a surprise.

He kisses Dean's sternum and he thinks he feels lips curl against his bone.

Dean kicks. He kicks and his knee hits Cas’ face, the shock making Cas jump back, but Dean is grabbing his robe and running back to the bathroom, not listening to whatever words Cas is yelling to him. He locks the door, and immediately starts heaving into the toilet. Tears squeeze out of the corners of his eyes, suffocated by the bile blocking his airway on its passage out. He stops crying when he’s finally done coughing the remains of his body into the sink All the air he drinks in smells vile but his lungs are craving it.

He ties the robe on, hoping to stop the shaking. 

It's blessedly quiet for the next few minutes. His mind is on the edge of paranoia that the door will open without his consent. Unlock without his say so.

It doesn't open, but footsteps do approach outside of it.

"Dean."

He's always saying his name, like it's supposed to convey a paragraph of questions or a novel length declaration of something. He clenches his fists at his side.

"I'm sorry for whatever," he trails off again. Dean can still see the shadow of his feet outside the door.  How could he let himself get cornered again? "I got caught up, I didn't realize-"

Dean sees the shadows shift, not forward, just side to side. 

"I'm going to leave. I'm sorry."

A beat passes.

A passing of air. Dean draws in and lets out several slow, shaky breaths, and closes his eyes.

-

A few weeks later, most objects in his room have a tiny sharpied on enochian symbol. Castiel isn’t at breakfast, and Dean hasn’t seen him in a while. Sam finishes the coffee and Dean has to brew another pot. Dean breathes in the coffee just fine.


End file.
